Cam drew away, came back for one last taste, then pressed his forehead against mine.
“Now, I believe we came down here to check out some penguins.”
“Doubloons. We’re here for the treasure.”
Cam unwrapped himself from around my body and started pulling me toward the rocks anyway.
“Speaking of treasure, you know there’s legends about poor farmers on these islands pulling up stakes and leaving after sudden and mysterious ‘improvements’ in their fortunes. You never know, you might just get lucky.”
I threw my head back and laughed. And as I listened to his excited chatter, I knew I was already so incredibly lucky and slipped my hand a little further into his and he held me tight.
Will told a story.
On the Mayflower there was a young man, an indentured servant by the name of John Howland. He’d become restless below and decided he had sea legs enough to withstand the winds and the waves of the furious sea above, so he climbed out on deck. He was wrong. The ship took a good hit and he was knocked over the railing and into raging waters. But strength, luck, and courage were on his side. He managed to catch a trailing rope and though he was plunged nearly ten feet under the waves with what must have been unimaginable force, his hand clung still to that rope when the sailors hauled him back onboard.
So, we sat before Will and Captain Le Roux: Paula clutching Brian’s hand, Gerard with his cane, and me with my fingers over my shoulder laced in Cam’s, and we must have truly looked pathetic because Will declared us the victims of accident and foolishness. He said that we had shown strength and courage through the dangerous results of our mistakes. Will told us that John Howland had gone on to become a leader in the colony and the thirteenth signer of the Mayflower Compact. He expected the same sort of full and meaningful lives of us.
Then, both he and the captain offered their condolences and the captain departed. Will came around the table.
He crouched down in front of me, put his hand on my knee.
“If you ever get in that kind of trouble again, you come to me. Or to Cam. Don’t you hide it like that again. I’m not blaming you. I know you did your best, but I trust you aren’t the type who needs to be thrown overboard twice.”
“No, sir.”
He patted my knee and rose, but his intention watched me with concern as he moved on to Gerard. He thought I was on the verge of losing it. Which was fair; I was. Cam gave my hand a hard squeeze.
Will stopped in front of Gerard.
“I didn’t realize it was you when Cam gave me the run down. You’re a lot skinnier than when I last saw you at your uncle’s house. I’ll have to let him know you haven’t managed to kill yourself yet. Does the Senator even know you’re out here?”
“Yes, sir.”
Senator.
Cam gave my hand another squeeze. Yes, that senator. It was Gerard, not Jessie who’d gotten me my new identity. I turned my shocked gaze toward Gerard, but he was blocking me out with the skill of years of long practice. I shook my head and left him alone. For now.
Will stopped in front of Paula and Brian now.
“So, here’s the big question: did I put payment down on a billion dollars of digital crap?”
Fire snapped through Paula’s reserve, right into her eyes.
“Our software is not crap. Even outside of testing mode, our software is fifteen percent more accurate than any other intention detection system out there.”
“Then why the cheat, why the fraud?”
Paula shook her head, the fire washed away by loss, by tears.
“Because he, he said that if we could make the people under our care that much safer, even for the little while we were onsite, shouldn’t we do that? Didn’t we have the moral obligation to? He—” She wiped her eyes. “Sorry.”
I had to look away. Gerard rubbed at his cheeks. I reached for his hand and he actually took it.
“Kaitlin’s natural talent.” That’s what I had now. A natural talent. “You can’t duplicate that with a computer. At least not yet. But he didn’t want her to know. He thought it would mess her up. I always felt guilty about that part—the not telling her, but…but never about the rest.”
That last part wasn’t true. She felt guilty about all of it, but she would never say anything to smear Jessie’s memory.
I felt the trembling start and had to close my eyes. I still couldn’t handle a lot of emotion yet and this room was so full of sorrow and fear. Behind me Cam rubbed my shoulders.
“So, if she walked off this ship right now, I would still have the best hardware and software on the market?”
I opened my eyes. Paula cleared her throat, pulled Brian closer.
“Yes, sir.”
“And Gerard, you can take over Jessie’s portion of the contract obligations?”
Gerard looked up, looked startled for a minute.
“I would have to get up to speed. I have his reports. But the CEO stuff...”
“We can find somebody for that,” I interjected.
“Good. Because tragedy or no, I still have a timeline with scheduled contracts on the other end of it. I need these systems in place by November.”
I released Cam and Gerard and pushed to my feet. Will was satisfied with himself and feeling rather clever and smug besides. I intended to keep him that way.
“We’ll have them ready, sir.”
“Good. Then let’s all get back to work.”
My mom is supposed to arrive today. I can feel her out there on that tender. I want to draw it nearer; I want to slow it down. She has a new husband I’ll be meeting for the first time. I’ve never been so terrified in my entire life.
I’m not the Ashley she last knew. Like Jessie’s artificial Kaitlin, that Ashley is gone from my head. I’m left with only myself to blame for any moments of crippling fear or brilliant bravado. Sometimes it’s almost lonely in here. I’m so worried Mom won’t recognize who I’ve become, that all these changes will be too much.
It’s going to be fine.
I run my hands over the warm railing, see my finger glint in the sun. The diamond is a huge rectangle-cut mounted on a thin gold band. I run my thumb over the sharp edges. This is my space elevator, my gateway to a life that feels real and whole. The security project is finished, and Cam and I haven’t decided whether we are staying on here or moving with Paula and Gerard and Cleo onto the project in Vegas. Maybe we’ll try something new altogether.
I feel Cam walking up behind me. I turn my face up to the morning light as he pulls me in tight, rests his chin on my shoulder. The feel of his mind and body both soothes and inspires. We have so much ahead of us, so much to do, so much to try.
I hear the familiar rumbling hum of the platform rolling back.
“This one’s the last practice run. The first real canister will start loading next week,” he tells me.
Leaning my cheek against his soft hair, I smile. I’ve met some of the people who will be sleeping in that first canister. My runaways. Are they Wan Hu with his rocket chair? Are they righteous John Howard with his eyes on God? Are they Astronaut Stu Roosa ready to explore and to push the boundaries of human experience beyond this fragile little planet?
This canister is mostly Stu, but others are beginning to trickle in. And I can tell already who is ready, who is here for the reasons that will bring them through the struggle and who is not. Because everybody brings memories and regrets, joys and sorrows, but some people also packed themselves full of hope and full of the sure knowledge that they can become a part of something greater than themselves, something magical.
The elevator is above us now, rising, rising. And all the heads below are upturned, watching, hearts full of fear and wonder and excitement. And I wish them luck on their journey whenever, wherever it starts.
Because my journey begins right here, today.
Mom’s tender has arrived.
Cam takes my hand and we head down the ramp to greet her.
The Story of P
lace: Capturing a place that won’t hold still
When choosing a place whose story you are going to tell, it is usually easy: pick an interesting setting for your action and off you go.
Not so this time.
I thought I would be setting my story on the remains of the Kennedy Space Center: what a depthless treasure trove of tales that would be!
Here comes the sound of the brakes.
Apparently, the platform for a space elevator must be incredibly mobile. And in relatively calm waters. So actually, the best place for a platform is off the coast of the Galapagos Islands. Well, now there’s a place with some pretty rich history. Sweet! A THOUSAND miles off the coast of the Galapagos. Damn!
So, there I sat with all this incredible research about the Apollo space program and its iconic astronauts. Pioneers into an impossibility, into the unknown. Pioneers. Pioneers. Pioneers…
And soon the “place” whose story I would tell became not a geographic location, but a place in life, a place in the heart and mind where—despite horrifying odds, daunting precedent, and dangers vividly imaginable—the dreamer nonetheless takes that step off the edge of safety and becomes the pioneer. Whether it’s an astronaut, a Pilgrim, an explorer, a settler, or simply a woman who can no longer run away from her past, the decision must be made whether to stay in the supposed safety of their current lives or make that leap and maybe, just maybe achieve greater things than they ever thought possible.
The following are not my exclusive sources of legends and folk history by any means, but they are beautiful, inspiring books by every means, demonstrating the power of human courage and imagination:
Voices from the Moon: Apollo Astronauts Describe their Lunar Experiences by Andrew Chaikin with Victoria Kohl, designed by Daniel Lagin, published by the Penguin Group (most of the quotes in the Breaking Free Observatory can be found here)
Space Travel: A History by Wernher von Braun, Frederick I. Ordway, III, & Dave Dooling (many of the stories in The Dream Observatory can be found here)
Mayflower by Nathaniel Philbrick (Will’s favorite author)
Galapágos: The Islands that Changed the World by Paul D. Stewart (one of Cam’s favorite guides to the islands)
Liftport: Opening Space to Everyone edited by Bill Fawcett, Michael Laine, & Tom Nugent Jr. (fact and fiction compiled by the people who made the first real push to turn space elevator technology into reality)
May these books give you a glimpse of the past that inspires a future where:
“I have learned to use the word impossible with the greatest caution.”
—Wernher von Braun,
German Immigrant &
Father of the American Space Program
People say you have to be suicidal to be in my line of work. Do I believe them? Depends on the day.
Some days being one of only six sensory immersion artists in the world means nothing more than listening. Like today. I listened to my naked feet complain about the lines of sharp cold pressing into them from the diamond-pattern catwalk; I listened to the tiny hairs on my legs, belly, arms, and face bask in the gentle flow of thick aquarium air…and I listened to my heart trip as the dark blue dorsal fin broke the water’s surface in the isolation tank just a half meter below me.
Mo, my onboard AI recorded each of these sensations directly from my brain and sent them back to our library at Lone Pine Pictures.
This promised to be a hell of an enactment.
The only thing missing was the easy sibling-like banter I usually shared with the three other members of my team. Instead, we each occupied our own isolated section of the same two-meter strip of catwalk over the brightly lit isolation tank. The blame was mine. They didn’t want to be here. I wasn’t changing my mind.
End of discussion.
I gave Tamsin Leonides, our field producer and my best friend, the nod. The two aquarists and the marine biologist charged with the care of Ike, that juvenile blue shark pacing the water below me, had sensed the tension in my team. The biologist’s thick, gloved fingers rapped on the railing, sending small vibrations through the bones of my elbows on the same hollow metal bar. I didn’t want those boys going logical on me and balking.
Tamsin wandered casually in their direction.
I knew what the three men were thinking: Ike was a national treasure, rescued from the toxic soup formerly known as the Atlantic Ocean. I was a billion-dollar piece of movie-making equipment. The orderly parts of their scientific minds would see the combination and extrapolate the most likely outcome—a very public disaster and the end of their distinguished careers.
Fortunately for the livelihood of my team, Tamsin was the most innocent of con artists. She easily pinned the trio on the ladder platform. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her block their mental retreat with an arsenal that was one part professionalism, one part enthusiasm, and two parts well-built, blue-eyed blonde. People tell me I’m intimidating. Not Tamsin. She’s approachably pretty. Then she opens her mouth and people fall in love.
“Oh, no, not at all. She’s brilliant with animals. In all the years we’ve been doing this, we’ve never had a serious animal accident. In fact, you should have been there, Jessie. You would have loved it. You remember Spirit Guide, that wolf movie? Well, when we were doing the enactment for that scene where…”
Behind me I heard Ben Norris-Stevenson, our stunt coordinator and my bodyguard, make a choking sound barely audible above the filtration system. Even I cracked a smile. I suppose Tamsin’s claim depended on your definition of “serious.” Possibly your average urbanized citizen would consider having her tibia cracked by grizzly bear fangs “serious.” Or maybe getting a few ribs shattered by a pissed off buffalo would fit the bill.
But Tamsin’s little exaggeration was safe. When the shark boys looked over at me, all they saw were long expanses of unmarred skin courtesy of my onboard medic, Margie. Gotta love Margie.
Satisfied that the progress of the enactment was in good hands, I squatted down next to Ryan Gunner, our swarm operator. It was time to integrate with the swarm cameras and get this show on the road.
Even in a crouch Ryan was at least a head shorter than me with sleek short brown hair, a slightly Hispanic cast to his features—as opposed to my hint of the Orient—and a timeless baby face he had finally stopped trying to hide with that ridiculous beard. He gave me one quick glance and then kept his gaze studiously averted. It wasn’t because he had issues with the bikini, either. He’d seen me in less.
Grief makes some people uncomfortable. My way of dealing with grief—with this off-schedule enactment—made my people very uncomfortable.
I watched him work for a minute as he dragged icons across the clipboard, logging a selection of cameras into the library I use to create sensory tracks for Lone Pine’s full-immersion films. It wasn’t my way to play other people’s games. The awkward silence was theirs, not mine. I didn’t feel the need to honor it.
Especially when there were things I genuinely wanted to know.
“How was Haylee? Did she like that Rumpelstiltskin book?”
“Yeah, it was a good pick. Monitor showed all kinds of spikes. So, um, thanks for letting me take the detour.”
Haylee is Ryan’s six-year-old niece. She’s six years old today. She was six years old ten years ago. Haylee is one of the victims of Sleeper’s Syndrome, a disease that put thousands of kids sixteen and under into a stasis-like coma. She “sleeps” in the Children’s Castle down in Vermont.
Haylee was the sweet, sad reason Tamsin and I picked the aquarium in Portland, Maine, instead of something a little closer to Montana where we’re based.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able go with you this time,” I murmured.
Ryan still wasn’t meeting my gaze, but his fingers stopped sliding over the camera settings on his clipboard. “No big deal. You had your own stuff to deal with.”
I just nodded. The conversation was started. That was good enough. I reached past him and pulled the sheet of
camera focus dots from his gear box.
“How many?” I asked.
“Nine little water birds.” Ryan finally looked up at me, his soft eyes wary. I could see him gathering up his courage to cross the line. He wasn’t heeding my mental “no.” Maybe I needed to work harder on my telepathy.
“But, Alyse—”
I stood up and turned away. Not enough to say “fuck off,” just enough to say “not now.” Ryan wasn’t a personal issues kind of guy. He dropped it.
So instead I got Ben.
Great.
How hard could it be to understand I just needed to get this over with?
Ben stepped forward from the rail, his normally cheerful face grim. I shot him a pointed look. I wasn’t going to break my concentration by talking about why I was here or even thinking about it. My heart was already beginning to race despite the calm concentration I’d spent the last hour building up. My eyes strayed to the shadow image of the predator drifting around the edges of the small pool below us.
Ben reached out his hand. I turned over the sheet of focus dots. His elegant black fingers precisely placed the first dot between my eyebrows, applying an even pressure without brushing my skin. Ben respected how much I hated being touched skin to skin. If only he respected how much I was done talking about this.
“Alyse, we’re here for you, baby, but—”
“Ben,” I warned. Subtle body language did not work with this man.
The only member of our team taller than me, he stared me down for a long moment. For such a goofy guy, he could do intimidating really well with that bald head, trim moustache and goatee, and chiseled face. Unfortunately for both of us, I was used to it. Finally, he let his hand drop.
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